


Thrones High

by the_sound_of_inevitability



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sound_of_inevitability/pseuds/the_sound_of_inevitability
Summary: A Game of Thrones High School AU, first started back when all our characters were innocent and baby-faced. I haven't updated it for a long time, and am finally back into GOT, but I'm keeping the character dynamics as they were back then.(I have about ten chapters written, and am editing as I reupload so there will be a small wait. All the tags refer to dynamics that do already exist in this WIP!)





	1. Catelyn

"You're going to miss your bus." Catelyn called. From the kitchen window, she saw the school bus slide into view and stop against the pavement in front of the Stark house. The day was bright already, and the sun reflected off the bus windows.  
  
Arya's voice drifted in from the living room. "I'm not taking the bus."  
  
"Yes you are, girl. Sansa! The bus is here!"  
  
There was a scrambling sound in the hallway as her eldest daughter picked her way through the family's six dogs and stepped into the kitchen without letting any of them in with her. She wore a knee length blue dress and yellow sneakers, every inch dressed for the bright sunshine. Her long auburn hair, so much like Catelyn's own, swung gently down her back.  
  
"Aren't you going to take them for a walk?" she asked, giving her mother a kiss before taking her schoolbag off the kitchen table.  
  
"Robb said he'll do it before he goes to work. Now go on, you'll be late."  
  
"OK. Have a good day!" Sansa pulled the back door open and left the house. Catelyn watched her trot happily around the house, through the front garden and out to the bus, and sighed.  
  
"Arya! Last chance!"  
  
"Gendry's bringing me!"  
  
"I'll tell your father!"  
  
"Dad knows!"  
  
"What?"  
  
There was a hiss from outside as the bus doors closed. Catelyn watched stonily as it drove smoothly away down the street. She turned towards the hallway door, prepared to give her daughter a piece of her mind when the puppy frenzy began again, and the door opened. Catelyn's jaw dropped.  
  
"What have you done to your hair?" she muttered.  
  
"Don't you like it?" Arya grinned, and ran one hand through the red side of her sleek shoulder-length hair. The right half remained dark, although Catelyn could swear it was a shade blacker than she was used to seeing. "Sansa liked it."  
  
"Did she now," Catelyn breathed. "I don't know which is more surprising."  
  
"Me neither," Arya said. "Mother, calm down. Have some tea. It's only hair, hair grows back."  
  
Catelyn did sit down, though she would never admit that the sudden appearance of Arya's fiery red locks had caused it.  
  
"So," she said. "This new look. Will Gendry appreciate it?"  
  
Arya shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know if he likes red or not."  
  
"You mean you didn't do it to grab his attention?"  
  
Arya glanced at her mother scornfully. "When have I ever done anything for a boy's attention? Especially the Bull's. I did it because I thought the colour was _bitchin'_."  
  
"Arya Stark!"  
  
"Sorry." Arya said, deigning to appear contrite. "I thought that the colour would look lovely placed upon my shining tresses."  
  
"Your shining tresses were lovely the colour they were," Catelyn grumbled. "And what will your father say?"  
  
"Will my father notice?"  
  
"He's not that bad."  
  
"At least you get to see him. You don't have a bedtime."  
  
"And when was the last time you ever obeyed your bedtime?"  
  
"I obey bedtime.' Arya murmured something under her breath. To Catelyn, it sounded suspiciously like 'my bedtime'.  
  
"Gendry had better not be late," she said. "Or I'll drive you there myself and honk the horn as we arrive. Maybe I'll get back into my pyjamas just in case I have to walk you into school."  
  
"Mum!" To Catelyn's amusement, real fear had flashed into her daughter's eyes, only to be replaced by relief as she heard a rumbling engine outside.  
  
"He's here," she said. "I just have to get my bag."  
  
Catelyn stood up when her daughter left the room, and paced over to the window that overlooked the front garden. Her face tensed in a frown when she saw what Gendry was driving this time; a battered old Nova, at least twenty years old, that was painted – a smile flickered onto her face – red. The driver himself was stepping quickly out of the car and hurrying up the path to the front door. Catelyn barely caught a glimpse of Gendry before she heard his knock on the door. Now was her chance.  
She moved out into the hallway, taking care not to trample on the dogs. There was a small vestibule before the front door, separated from the main hallway by a light mesh door. Catelyn placed herself in this vestibule, closing the mesh door and keeping the dogs cordoned in the hallway. As she opened the front door, she changed her face to something much more unwelcoming. It was the same face she always remembered Ned's mother wearing when they met.  
  
"Gendry." she said coldly. "It's very early for you to be knocking for my daughter."  
  
"Good morning, Mrs Stark," Gendry mumbled. The boy was tall for his age, hitting nearly six foot and only barely seventeen. Catelyn, not a tall lady, felt her neck ache just looking at him yet managed to maintain her imperious gaze. The three-step difference between house and street level helped.  
Gendry stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to look her in the eye. He failed. Casting his eyes in the space around Catelyn, he asked, "Is Arya in?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh," He coughed. "Um, can I – can I"  
  
"Can you what?"  
  
"It's just, I'm giving her a lift to school, Mrs Stark."  
  
"Oh, are you?"  
  
"Mum!"  
  
Catelyn pursed her mouth, and stepped to one side. Arya hopped nimbly down the last few stairs, and bent to quickly say goodbye to the dogs. Her mother and Gendry watched as she cupped each puppy's head in her hands and growled lightly at it, before scratching the mother behind the ears and stepping away.  
  
"You're half a dog yourself," Gendry said. Catelyn's eyes flashed in his direction and he cringed, but Arya laughed.  
  
"At least I'm not a complete mule," she said. She slid into the vestibule and hugged Catelyn .  
  
"Bye, mum."  
  
"Bye, love. Have a good day."  
  
They detached from each other and Arya left the house, walking quickly ahead of Gendry towards the car.  
  
"Bye, Mrs Stark." He called over his shoulder.  
  
"Goodbye Gendry."  
  
Catelyn watched them walk down the path. Gendry had caught up to her daughter. He said something to her, and she shouldered him to one side affectionately, her reply lost to Catelyn. He laughed, head thrown back, and pushed one arm out like a piston to send her daughter reeling sideways. She careered across one side of the lawn, nearly losing her balance, and Gendry paused. He cast a quick glance back to the house, to Catelyn watching from the porch, and an expression of sheer panic crossed his face.  
  
Unfortunately in doing so he took his eyes from Arya. Her equilibrium restored, she seized the opportunity and flung herself across the short space between them to tackle her friend around the waist, sending both of them flying across the path and onto the grass. Catelyn rolled her eyes but could not stop her smile as she watched Arya grapple with the boy who was twice her size, and felt a faint twinge of pride when Arya fought her way on top of Gendry. He lay stomach down on the ground, and was shouting 'You're the queen!' as she twisted his arm behind his back. Arya let go and hopped up. Dusting her hands, she waited for Gendry to get up before walking with him towards his car. Their voices drifted back to Catelyn, animated noises debating one of their hobbies or interests. As they got into the car, Catelyn shut the front door and went back into the house. The cacophony of whining and barking resumed, and she blew out a frustrated huff.  
"Robb!"


	2. Arya

_He hasn't noticed. Typical boy._ But then, they hadn't had much of a chance to talk since she left the house, bar the exchange that led to the scuffle on her front lawn:  
  
"I don't think your mum likes me, Arry," he had said.  
  
"If you're going to rock up on my doorstep at eight in the morning she'll think you're trying to court me," she replied, knocking him lightly with her shoulder.  
  
He had laughed at this, a loud, sincere laugh that had annoyed her more than his sudden shove. As she grappled with him on the front lawn, she puzzled at the idea that she wasn’t a prospect for 'courting'. The implication stung, but she couldn’t pinpoint the source of the sting.  
  
"Any chance of a quick spin to the beach before school?" she asked when they were in the car.  
  
Gendry raised an eyebrow in her direction.  
  
"Ha," he said. "There's no way I'm letting word get back to your mum that you were late on the day I picked you up. Then it'll be the end of it. Do you want to sit with your sister on the bus?" He pulled his seat belt on, and motioned for her to do the same.  
  
"With her, and Prince Joffrey?" Arya tented her fingers beneath her chin and fluttered her eyelashes. "No thank you." She reached for her own belt.  
  
"Well then. I have to pick up Hot Pie, and maybe we'll hit McDonalds on the way." Satisfied that they were both strapped in, Gendry started the car. The Nova's engine made a steady, comforting rumble, and they pulled away from the kerb.  
  
"My god, McDonalds at this hour?" Arya's gorge rose just a little at the thought of eating greasy food so early in the morning.  
  
"You know what he likes."  
  
She reached for the radio and flicked it on, some static fizzing over a guitar solo. Her hands ran over the dashboard and felt the hum running through it.  
  
"God, I love this car," she sighed. "Can I have it if you die?"  
  
"If you cough up for it." he said. "I've still got ten payments to make."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Can you even drive yet?"  
  
"It can't be that hard if you do it."  
  
They stopped at a red light, and Gendry stuck out his tongue at her.  
  
"Changed your mind about graduation yet?" she asked.  
  
"Nope. It's not happening," he said. "I even bought the new Guitar Hero, so our plans for the evening are sorted."  
  
"Didn't I tell you Ned Dayne asked me to go with him?"  
  
The lights changed and Gendry was quiet as he concentrated on the move, changing gears smoothly and gazing steadily at the cars in front. When the Nova had reached equilibrium, he coughed.  
  
"Really?" he asked. "What did you say?"  
  
"I said yes," she said. "And then I called Sansa up to help me pick a dress and do my hair and paint my nails and I said no, idiot!"  
  
Gendry snorted. "OK, little snowflake. Well done."  
  
"Oh please, that was blatant relief I saw cross your face. You were worried you'd be stuck with Hot Pie all night, with no-one to buffer his chat."  
  
He smiled. "Yeah, sure."  
  
They drove on in silence for a while, breaking it only to sing along to music on the radio. When they pulled up to Hot Pie's house, Gendry laid on the horn for a few seconds. As the blaring sound faded from Arya's eardrums and Hot Pie's front door opened, Gendry turned to her.  
  
"I like your hair." he said.


	3. Sansa

She had been eager for the bus to arrive, so when their mother called them Sansa was on her feet and at the living-room door before Arya started shouting her refusal.  
  
"Stop stroking your hair, it'll make it all greasy," she hissed at Arya before slipping out. "God forbid you look clean for once."  
  
She tiptoed out into the hallway, taking care not to trample on any dogs as she made her way into the kitchen. Reaching down, she briefly rubbed each little puppy head, then entered the kitchen. Her mum was staring at the bus outside but turned to face her when she came in.  
  
"Aren't you going to take them for a walk?" Sansa asked, moving over to Catelyn and kissing her affectionately on the cheek before taking her bag from the table. Her mother smiled.  
  
"Robb said he'll do it before he goes to work. Now go on, you'll be late."  
  
"OK," Sansa smiled. "Have a good day!"  
  
She swung her bag over her shoulder and stepped through the kitchen doorway to the outside. Standing in the front garden, her dress rippling in the breeze, Sansa paused to enjoy the warm air and bright sunshine. She patted her hem down with her left hand, right hand securing the strap of her school bag. It was a beautiful day. Her father had said something about a hot summer, which was followed by his usual dour assurance that cold winters were preceded by hot summers. Sansa had laughed at this. Why worry about weather that was so far away?  
  
She clicked the door closed behind her. The school bus was idling next to the pavement, sun reflecting off its windows. The door was open and inside the bus Mr Payne, the driver, was frowning out at Sansa. She smiled apologetically, close-mouthed, and walked briskly across the grass. Beyond the sun's reflection in the bus window, Sansa saw the back of her crush's blonde head, turning slowly to face outwards. Quickly, she switched her gaze to her friend Jeyne sitting in the seat behind, and waved. She put on her brightest, most dazzling smile, hoping that Joffrey would see. Jeyne waved back, and Sansa stepped on board the bus.  
  
"Sorry I'm late, Mr Payne," she said. "My brother and sister aren't coming today."  
  
The driver made a wordless sound, somewhere between a rattle and a harrumph, and pulled the door lever. As it creaked shut Sansa made her way down the aisle towards her friend. She said hello to those she knew, and let her eyes wander over the other students.  
  
She found herself looking for a fraction of a second longer at Sandor Clegane, who was sitting on his own in the seat across from hers. His eyes flickered up to meet hers, and he turned his face towards her, so that Sansa could see his burn scars head-on. Sansa flinched, ashamed that she had been staring. The bus pulled away from the kerb and roared away. She swung down into the seat beside Jeyne.  
  
"Hey," Jeyne said. "Where's your adorable little bro?"  
  
"His class had a 'work with parents' day, so he's at the office with Dad."  
  
"And Arya?"  
  
"She's coming in, but she's getting a lift with Gendry." Sansa said.  
  
"Ooh," Jeyne said. "Your sister's a clever girl. He's so hot."  
  
"Oh please," said Sansa. "Dark hair? I don't think so. Blonde hair is way nicer."  
  
She pitched this comment slightly louder than normal, intending for it to be received by someone other than Jeyne. As hoped, Joffrey took the bait.  
  
"Thank you Sansa," he said, pulling himself up to lean above the back of Jeyne's seat. Sansa's stomach lurched just a little at the sight of his handsome face, and the fact that he was talking to her. Jeyne, mostly unseen by Joffrey, made a small noise in the back of her throat and nudged Sansa's leg with her own. Sansa ignored this.  
  
"So Joff," she said. "Are you going to the graduation dance?"  
  
He smirked. "Maybe. Haven't really found anyone to go with yet. Are you going?"  
  
"Oh," she said, casting her eyes downwards in mock-embarrassment. "I'm not in the right year. I'd have to be asked by someone who's graduating."  
  
Joffrey looked at her intently for a few seconds. His eyes are so blue, Sansa thought.  
  
"Good to know," he said, then lowered himself back into his seat. Seconds later, he and his friend Boros began talking loudly about last night's football game, and Sansa and Jeyne shared a wide-eyed, trembling glance.  
  
"Oh my god." Jeyne mouthed.  
  
"I know." Sansa felt a wide grin pull at her face, but she dampened it quickly. It wouldn't do, to let Joffrey know how much she fancied him.  
  
Jeyne covered her mouth with her hand to conceal her own smile, and turned towards the window. Sansa faced the seat in front, and in doing so caught a glimpse of Sandor out of the corner of her eye.  
  
_Just a quick look,_ she thought. _Pretend you're looking at the seat behind him._  
  
She craned her neck to take a look at the seats behind, and let her eyes pass over him on the way back.  
  
Sandor Clegane was a tall, sturdily built teenager, in the same year as Joffrey. His dark hair grew to his collar, the better to cover his scars, and he was wearing some rock band t-shirt with faded, ripped jeans. His face was still turned towards the window, but she could see the unscarred side twitching. Sansa didn't know whether it was a tic or some kind of suppressed laugh. She often found herself glancing his way. He was part of her sister's little gang, but she never saw him at their house the way she did Gendry or Hot Pie. From the gossip she heard, he didn't have a very nice home life. His older brother was in a juvenile delinquent facility, and there were rumours that when they were kids they'd set a car on fire together, and that's how Sandor got burned. Sansa doubted it. Sandor was quiet, and the simmering look in his eyes was often half anger, half hate, but he didn't give off the same crazy vibes as Gregor Clegane had. It sometimes crossed her mind to talk to Sandor at school, or just to smile at him in the corridor, but she could never summon the nerve.  
  
As if he felt her gaze, Sandor swivelled his head around and locked his eyes onto hers. A lightning-fast sneer crossed his face, and he turned his upper body towards her. Still staring at her, not saying a thing, he moved his head slightly off-side so that she could get a clear view of his burns. Sansa's mouth fell open slightly. At this, the corner of Sandor's mouth twitched. Sansa closed her mouth. The burns were dreadful. Not having a tough disposition, she felt tears prickling the backs of her eyes. She was ashamed, and confused, and felt sorry for him, but couldn't look away.  
  
"Oh, look at this!" Joffrey called. "Sansa and Sandor are eye-fucking!"  
  
That did it. Sansa snapped her head back to face the front of the bus, face burning hot with embarrassment. They were nearly at school, and she felt the bus decelerate minutely. _Thank God._  
  
"Fuck you, Lannister," She heard Sandor growl. She stole another glance at him. _Haven't you looked enough?_  
  
Sandor's eyes had gone to Joffrey, but the second Sansa turned back to him he glared straight at her. His eyes were filled with hate, and she felt her heart sink at inspiring such an emotion in anyone. Her mouth opened again, to apologise, to calm them both down, to say something, to say anything, but Joffrey got there first.  
  
"I don't think it's me you want to fuck though, is it?"  
  
Sansa's stomach churned at the horrible words coming out of her lovely Joffrey's mouth. The fact that they were said in reference to her only made things worse. Her eyes scrunched close.  
  
"Maybe you want to ask her to the graduation dance? How about it, Sansa?" He laughed. To Sansa's immense shame, Joffrey was addressing her now. She opened her eyes, and looked at him. A smile was dancing across his face, and his bright blue eyes mocked her. "I think he'll want to pop your cherry in some side alley after the dance."  
Sansa's jaw clenched, and for an instant she felt a flash of hate towards him. He's being territorial, she told herself. Just like the pups and their dinner. Arya would growl she was no-one's territory but her own, but Sansa knew boys could be silly like that.  
  
"Don't be rude, Joffrey." She whispered. She always tried to remember her manners.  
  
The bus slowed, and finally parked beside the school's front gate. No one stood up. Just as much as Sansa, they were caught by the unfolding drama.  
Joffrey exclaimed at her response.  
  
"Rude? Talking about the freak going to a dance or talking about your cherry?"  
  
There was a thud to her left, and Sansa whirled around. Sandor was towering over her, stooping slightly under the bus's low roof. His eyes were filled with rage, and she saw him clench one hand tight. He stretched across her to put his disfigured face less than twenty inches from Joffrey's.  
  
"Shut your mouth," he said. "or I'll shut it for you."  
  
Joffrey recoiled, a grimace of fright unfurling across his face. Even Boros, who was both bigger and stronger than his friend, was loath to do anything but sit still and avoid Sandor's eyes. At their reaction a deep, grating laugh escaped from Sandor's mouth. He turned and walked off the bus. Everyone watched him leave, then started to stand. Sansa exhaled with relief.  
  
"Maybe I'd better nip his schemes in the bud right now," Joffrey said. His air of swagger had returned. "Sansa, would you like to come to the graduation dance with me?"  
  
Sansa's stomach lurched again, though this time she was unsure whether it was from anxiety or disdain. _You're just freaking out after that little episode,_ She told herself. _You still want to go with him._  
  
"Thank you Joffrey," she said. "I'd love to."


	4. Jaime

"Have you cast your vote for the elections yet?"  
  
Jaime sighed, and laid his magazine down. Cersei was standing in front of him, arms crossed and an expression of deep consternation on her face. He smiled.  
  
"No, sweet sister. I have not."  
  
The same flicker of annoyance crossed over her features, as it always did when he called her his sister.  
  
"I told you you don't have to call me that in here."  
  
"But you insisted. Hey, in _sis_ ted. Get it?"  
  
Cersei emitted a snarling huff and walked away. Jaime picked his magazine back up.  
  
"Have you -"  
  
"No," he said loudly, trying to find the article he was reading. "And I won't be voting for you anyway."  
  
"What?"  
  
He looked up again. This time it wasn't his sister, or Stannis, or Beric, or any of the candidates for the next school principal. It was Brienne. She formed a neat contrast to Cersei, and a welcome change for Jaime. She was tall, nearly taller than he was, with short blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Unlike Cersei, she wore no fancy clothes, no make-up; as the female coach she had no use for such things. A tracksuit was her default uniform. Jaime's grin stretched practically from ear to ear.  
  
"I'm sorry, my beautiful colleague," he slapped his magazine on the table and bounced up. "I assumed you were Stannis, asking if I had voted." He put a hand out and grasped her shoulder lightly. "What was your query?"  
  
Brienne looked down at his hand as though it were a sudden growth on her skin. Her eyes then swung up to meet his own and he was struck, not for the first time, at how wonderfully rich their colour was. Jaime let go of her shoulder. His grin faded a little, to be replaced by something slightly more genuine. He could see a faint blush appear on her cheeks. She lowered her eyes.  
  
"Do you have the equipment room key?" she muttered.  
  
"Yes, and I need the ball bag. I have boys' football for the rest of the day. I'll come with you."  
  
As they walked to the door together, the bell rang. Jaime could feel Cersei watching them from her corner of the room. She was being talked at by Stannis, who was presumably trying to lecture her on her teaching methods. This was all part of his masterplan to gain the principalship.  
  
"So who are you going to vote for?" asked Brienne.  
  
"You know, I don't know," Jaime said. "I'm in two minds whether to vote for Cersei or not, just to get her off my back. Who are you leaning towards?" They entered the hallway and were surrounded by a sudden tide of students, all heading to their next class. Instinctively, they drew closer together, so close their elbows were touching.  
  
"Apart from me." he added.  
  
"That's not – It's the students, I can't help - " she stammered.  
  
"I know Brie, I know." he said. "It was a joke. You'd think being my co-worker for so long would acclimatise you to me and my many hilarious quips."  
  
"It's difficult to acclimatise to you."  
  
Her last words were barely above a whisper, and Jaime pretended not to have heard it. He was aware that Brienne found him annoying, and while he would hope calling her on her remark would put a bit of backbone into the woman, it would more likely push her further into her shell.  
  
Little by little, the students filtered into their classrooms. Once the last late student careered past them and slammed into a classroom, they were alone in the hallway.  
  
"So who are you voting for?"  
  
"I'm not sure. Probably Stannis." she shrugged.  
  
"Not my dear sister?" he smiled.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
"Why don't you run for principal?" she said. "You're popular, and most people like you."  
  
"Ugh, and have to put up with all that paperwork?" he shuddered. "I do P.E. because my hand is no longer fit for writing. Or even typing, at this stage. Any reports I, or at least my TA, have to fill in are minimal. I can catch a ball, and I can kick one. That's all I need."  
  
"Your hand," she said. "What happened to it?"  
  
"Broke it, then damaged it even more trying to move it when it wasn't ready to be moved. Just means it gets tired quicker than the other, is all. It's all good, though – I've learned to masturbate with my left."  
  
He wanted to kick himself the second the words left his mouth. Brienne blushed a deeper shade of pink – Dear God, was a deeper shade possible? – and fixed her eyes firmly on the ground.  
  
"There's no need to be so vulgar," she chided. Jaime almost didn't hear her.  
  
"I apologise deeply, Sister Brienne." he said.  
  
"Or sarcastic." she said. "There's no reason to be so snippy with me. I'm not your sister."  
  
_Neither's the lioness stalking around the staff room,_ Jaime thought. He was amazed at the sudden response from Brienne. Usually when he came out with stuff like this, her primary tactic was to ignore his bullshit.  
  
They reached the supply room, and he dug the set of keys out of his trouser pocket. He unlocked the door and turned to her.  
  
"You're right," he said. "I don't treat you as well as I should and for that, I apologise."  
  
Brienne looked at him intently for a few seconds, before deciding that he was genuine.  
  
"Thanks, Jaime." she said.  
  
She slid past him and opened the supply room door. After exhaling a snort of disgust at the messiness of the cupboard she tiptoed inside and began to rifle through the shelves.  
  
"Can you pass me the ball bag, Brie?" Jaime asked. "It's under the shelf on your left."  
  
She bent and grabbed the net bag that was filled with the school's footballs. With a smooth, fluid motion she tossed the bag to Jaime.  
  
_May God forgive me,_ Jaime smiled to himself.  
  
"Treat my balls gently Brienne, please!" he yelled, before grabbing the bag and escaping down the hallway. There were very few students in the hallway at this time, but the few stragglers that were at their lockers turned and giggled at his outburst.  
  
Jaime would even swear he heard Brienne chuckling.


	5. Arya

Hot Pie was talking about food. Arya wasn't listening, but it was safe to bet he was talking about food. She was lying on the grass, reading a book on urban legends. Students were milling around the pavilion, enticed outside by the warm sunshine. Here and there she spotted teachers eating their lunch, keeping a lazy eye on all the young people. The three of them were in the shade of a huge oak tree, Hot Pie sitting upright between Arya and Gendry.  
  
"...and you have to be really careful with how you mix it. If you get water in it, it's game over."  
  
"Really." Gendry was on his back to Hot Pie’s right, eyes closed and arms folded behind his head. "Please tell me more."  
  
"Someone once found a mouse in a tin of beans." Arya told them.  
  
"Don't tell me more."  
  
"And then there was this time a couple were sharing a chicken bucket in KFC and found a deep-fried rat."  
  
"Arya, please," Gendry said. "Canteen food isn't easy to keep down under normal circumstances."  
  
"I can read you one about murders."  
  
"No."  
  
"Speaking of murders," Hot Pie said, opening a chocolate bar, "Sandor's in detention for nearly killing Joffrey Baratheon."  
  
"Only nearly?" Arya frowned. "Shame."  
  
"Isn't he your future brother-in-law?" Gendry smiled.  
  
Arya ignored him. Joffrey Baratheon had been a mild thorn in her side for most of her life. Their fathers, being old friends and now business partners, had forced the children together growing up. Jon, Robb and Arya had tolerated Joffrey to the best of their ability but nearly every encounter ended with the Stark children getting in trouble for some perceived injury done to Joffrey. The forced visits had gradually become less frequent, and Arya had believed that she was free of Joffrey. Until she walked into school and found the blonde-headed git smirking at her. Problems at his old school, apparently. None his fault, of course.  
  
Sansa had been overjoyed. Having had her own difficulties with the rough-housing Stark children, she viewed Joffrey as the paragon of innocence and virtue, and always blamed her siblings for the gradual lack of contact. This admiration had, over the last few years, blossomed into a full-blown crush.  
  
Arya loved her sister, despite their differences, but Sansa's attraction to Joffrey was her cut-off point. Even in her wildest dreams she couldn’t understand it. He was a pompous, bullying little shit who had been removed to their school so that his mother could coddle him even more. _If he tries anything with me,_ she thought, _Even his mother won't be able to save him._ She closed her book, and sat up.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Apparently Sandor made a pass at Sansa, and Joffrey intervened. Then Sandor grabbed him by the throat and said he'd do whatever he wanted. Then he punched Boros in the face and walked off."  
  
"Let's translate that into truth, shall we?" Gendry said. He sat up halfway, rubbed his eyes and returned to his reclined position.  
  
"Joffrey was being a wanker," Hot Pie mumbled around his chocolate.  
  
"While making a pass at my sister," Arya added.  
  
"And Sandor told him to stop." Gendry finished. "As for Boros... his face is too fucked up to disprove anything."  
  
"Oh, here we go," Hot Pie said. "He's out."  
  
Arya looked across to the school. Sandor had emerged from its shadows and was walking quickly into the middle of the open space. When he reached the sunlight, he paused and took a moment to luxuriate in its warmth. He began looking around for them, and Hot Pie raised his hand.  
"Sandor! Sandor!"  
  
People in the direct vicinity jumped, startled by the sudden noise, and Sandor started towards the group. Arya grinned. She maintained it was all the talking that made Hot Pie's shouting so powerful.  
  
Sandor’s long, powerful legs carried him smoothly across to where his friends were sitting, and he sat down next to Gendry on the grass.  
  
"Did you have to shout so fucking loud?" he snarled at Hot Pie.  
  
"Yes," Hot Pie replied. He rummaged in his bag for a few seconds, and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in clingfilm. Sandor held his hand out, only for the sandwich to be held away from him.  
  
"The magic word?"  
  
"Gimme the fu-" he sighed, and gave up. "Please."  
  
Hot Pie smiled, and handed the sandwich over.  
  
"What happened with you and my sister?" Arya asked as Sandor ripped the clingfilm off the sandwich. He ripped it in half, and stuffed one of the halves in his mouth. His detention had cost him most of his lunch break.  
  
"Nothing," he said. "She was staring at me. I gave her a good look," he pointed at his ruined face, "and Joffrey started shouting about how I wanted to pop her cherry. I just told him to shut up, and got detention from his bitch of a mother." He swallowed a piece of sandwich. "The little twat."  
  
Arya nodded. Sounded about right. She put her book into her bag.  
  
"It was very good of you," Gendry said, "to defend Sansa's honour like that."  
  
"Fuck honour," Sandor growled. He stared down at his sandwich, and focused on tearing off another piece. "I did it because Joffrey's an annoying little prick."  
  
Gendry did not reply. After a few seconds Sandor looked at Arya. She could feel the anger coming off him in waves.  
  
"What does your sister see in him anyway?"  
  
Arya shrugged.  
  
"You should have heard how he talked to her. Talking about popping her cherry..." he muttered, nearly beyond the range of hearing, "I should have punched his fucking head off. Or she should've."  
  
"It's not Sansa's style, I'm afraid." Arya said.  
  
He gulped down the remains of the sandwich, and said nothing. Gendry sat up, looking over at the school building. He placed both hands palms-down on the ground behind him, and as he stretched Arya could see the muscles flex under his t-shirt. Her eyes roamed over his messy black hair, across the powerful shoulders and down his legs. _He's actually not bad,_ she thought. As if he heard her his gaze snapped up to hers, and he grinned. _Oh no._  
  
"It's a shame she can't be more like you, Arya." he said.  
  
Arya felt a strange flutter in her chest. _You've got to be kidding me._  
  
The bell rang, signalling five minutes until class would resume. She hopped up almost immediately, wanting to get away, to diagnose – and destroy – this weird jittery feeling elsewhere.  
  
"See you guys later," she said, hauling her bag up onto her shoulder. Sandor grunted.  
  
"Bye Arya," said Hot Pie.  
  
"Wait," Gendry said. He too jumped up, and stretched again. "I'll come with you."  
  
"I want to go on my own." She told him. He stared at her, puzzled. She felt another sensation in her chest, more of a swoop this time, followed by a sharp anger. Before Gendry could lift his bag up, she turned and stomped away towards the school.  
  
_No._ She thought. _No! This isn't fair. It's disgusting, is what it is. He's my friend._  
  
She walked quickly towards the school building, passing the other students on the grass.  
  
"Arya! Arya!" Someone was calling her. Not Gendry.  
  
"What?" she snapped.  
  
"Um," It was Ned Dayne, scrambling up from the grass and saying hasty goodbyes to his friends. He trotted after her, and caught up. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Science lab," she replied. "Pycelle said something about dissections for this lesson."  
  
"He lied," he said. "They do that to stop people bunking off. Even we haven't done dissections yet."  
  
With that, Arya slowed her pace. She turned her head to look at Ned. He was two years older than her, and handsome in his own way. He wouldn't be bad to have a crush on. Sansa and her mother were often disappointed at her own lack of affection for the opposite sex. They never came right out and said it, but Arya knew. And to have a crush on Gendry, of all people! Ned wasn't her friend, it wouldn't be complicated. And he had asked her to the graduation dance, meaning he must have some interest in her beyond sitting around playing video games. She could switch her crush to him, and keep Gendry as her friend without everything getting weird.  
  
"I like your hair," he said. "Red suits you. And the half-side thing looks really good."  
  
Arya went to run her hand over her hair, but Sansa's earlier warning stopped her. Instead, she smiled at Ned.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He had to stop at his locker on the way to class, so Arya paused beside him. She ran her eyes over him, over his ash-blonde hair and the eyes that were too light a blue to be compared to Gendry's.  
  
_He's not as tall as Gendry, either. And he probably isn't as much fun._  
  
"Have you asked anyone else to the dance yet?" she blurted out.  
  
"Not yet," Ned said. 'Why, have you changed your mind?'  
  
"Maybe." Arya said. With this, Ned turned to her, eyes widening with pleasant surprise.  
  
"Really?" he smiled.  
  
_It's a lovely smile,_ Arya thought. _And I bet he's not as boring as he makes out. This shouldn't be a problem._


	6. Sansa

"Come on, girls! Faster!"  
  
Sansa groaned. She hated P.E.. She hated running, she hated relays and most of all she hated Miss Tarth. That woman was all leg, built for running. Sansa was built to sit around, eat lemon cakes, and read. Beside the running track, some senior boys were playing football for Mr Lannister. Half the girls were watching them play, but she felt they were all screaming at her.  
  
"Sansa, you're nearly there!"  
  
Sansa pulled a huge breath into her lungs and urged her legs to move faster. Her hand was tight and sweating around the baton. In the not-near-enough distance Jeyne was waiting to take it, and so far they would come second unless someone overtook Sansa at the last minu-  
  
"Come on, Margaery!" she heard someone scream.  
  
_Crap,_ she thought. Margaery Tyrell was the best runner in their class, and Sansa had flown from her marker the second the baton had slipped into her hand, so she would stand a fighting chance. Now her state of grace was over. She heard the girls cheering and a brief, desperate pant escaped her mouth. She knew she was slower than Margaery, but by god she'd give her a fight.  
  
_In-two-three-four-out-one-two-in-two-three-four-out-one-two_  
  
Over the shouts of the girls she heard Margaery's feet pounding the tarmac close behind her. The girl ran like a professional, head down and long legs stretching easily. Sansa started to flag. Jeyne was now less than 30 metres away and Sansa was closing in rapidly, but even this small distance seemed too far.  
  
_Come on, Sansa. Come o-_  
  
**BLAM**  
  
Something hard struck the side of her head. Sansa fell heavily onto the ground, knocking her head on the tarmac and skinning her knee and elbow. Her head exploded with pain, and lines of fire opened up on her limbs. She flopped over on her side, and through slitted eyes she saw a football bounce away. The girls were shrieking and Sansa could vaguely see Margaery jogging towards her. There was also a ruckus over at the boy's area. She heard Mr Lannister trying to shut them up.  
  
"Oh my god, Sansa! Are you OK?" This was Margaery. From the proximity of her voice, Sansa guessed she had knelt beside her. She felt hair fall over her own face – Margaery was checking her breathing. Sansa wanted to reply, wanted to tell her she felt fine but the throbbing in her head made it difficult to form sentences. She closed her eyes.  
  
"Hey, is she alright?" A familiar voice.  
  
"Clegane, get back over there!! That was Mr Lannister.  
  
"Not until I know she's alright!" His voice was like thunder. Sansa summoned all of her will and opened her eyes. The glimpse she got before her eyelids closed again was of Sandor Clegane standing over her, the sun behind him creating a vast silhouette against the sky.  
  
"What's going on? Is Sansa OK, Margaery?" Miss Tarth had arrived.  
  
"I think she's been knocked unconscious, Miss Tarth." Margaery said.  
  
"She's bleeding, too," Sandor interjected. "I'm going to kill that little fucking prick." Sansa heard a quick scuffle, followed by Mr Lannister's roar:  
  
"Clegane! Principal's office, now!"  
  
"How about you make sure she's OK before dealing with the problem student?" Sandor snarled.  
  
Sansa heard nothing then for a few seconds, and darkness threatened to take her completely.  
  
"Do something!" Sandor yelled, and her eyes flew open. He was standing beside her, turned towards Miss Tarth and Mr. Lannister.  
  
"We can't," said Miss Tarth. "It's against regulations. Normally I'd get a few of the students to carry her, but the boys don't look like they're in a co-operating mood."  
  
"Oh, for god's... Blount!" Sansa watched Mr Lannister stride away, and closed her eyes again. Her head was throbbing.  
  
"Fucking useless." She heard Sandor mutter. The next thing she knew, he knelt beside her and was scooping her into his arms. There was a quick swoop that told her he had stood up, cradling her firmly against his chest. She heard a faint giggle, and blushed. Even in her pain she felt embarrassment at the situation.  
  
"Margaery, run to the nurse's office and tell them she's coming," Miss Tarth ordered. Sansa heard the sound of feet patter swiftly by them and recede into the distance. Sandor started walking.  
  
"I'll dismiss the girls, then follow you." Tarth called. Sansa's mind was becoming more focused. She stirred just a little, and Sandor stopped walking.  
  
"Try not to move," he muttered. "Or I'll drop you."  
  
"Sandor," With supreme effort, she opened her eyes. The unscarred side of her face was turned towards her, and Sansa wondered whether he'd picked her up that way on purpose.  
  
"Jesus," he said, resuming his stride, "for a second I thought you were knocked out."  
  
Sansa murmured a no, before stretching her arms to lock around his neck and secure herself more firmly. A muscle beside his mouth twitched. The giggles got louder. She closed her eyes again. Any movement, however slight, caused a stab of pain to go through Sansa's head, so she refrained from looking around. I wonder where Joffrey is, she thought.  
  
"Thank you," she said. Sandor grunted.  
  
"How precious!"  
  
Sansa groaned. There he was. The flash of hate she'd felt on the bus returned, this time swelling into a pool of fire in her stomach. Don't, she thought. He's just jealous Sandor got there first.  
  
"Look at the brave prince carrying the lady away! Or is it the beast dragging away the beauty?" Joffrey sneered from the pitch. "Shouldn't someone call the police?"  
  
Sandor stopped, and Sansa felt his muscles clench around her. She glanced up to see his face had gone tight with barely-suppressed rage.  
  
"Go on, dog!" Joffrey called. The other boys sniggered. A sound that was like nothing human escaped Sandor's mouth. He does sort of sound like a dog, Sansa thought.  
  
"Sandor," she said. "Don't."  
  
His mouth twisted in a hateful grimace, and his fingers dug into her side.  
  
"I mean," she added. "He's not worth it."  
  
Sandor took a deep breath and began walking again. His grip relaxed a little. The sounds of Joffrey's catcalls soon fell away.  
  
"I can't believe you're going to the graduation dance with that shithead." he said.  
  
"Please," she murmured. Her head began to swim again. She closed her eyes and hoped they were nearly at the nurse's office.  
  
"He did this to you."  
  
"What? No, I fell, he didn't push me." Sansa told him.  
  
He snarled again. "He got Meryn to kick that fucking football at your head, dimwit. That made you fall."  
  
"Don't call me a dimwit."  
  
"Then don't act like one!" He stopped, and her arms slipped from round his neck. Sansa winced, and opened her eyes.  
  
"Please don't drop me."  
  
Sandor sighed, and moved his arms to improve his hold. He hitched her up slightly, and held her closer to his chest. Sansa could feel the warmth of him through their gym clothes.  
  
"Of course not." he said.  
  
He began to walk again while Sansa absorbed what he'd said.  
  
"Joffrey wanted to hurt me?" she said, puzzling at the words coming out of her mouth.  
  
"Hurt you, humiliate you," A slight movement indicated a shrug. "I can't understand that guy's twisted little head any more than you can."  
  
They passed into the coolness of the school building. The nurse's office wasn't far from the entrance, and after a few steps Sandor slowed. Gently, taking care not to jostle her any more than necessary, he lowered her onto a chair inside the small room. Sansa's head was feeling much better; even the bright lights of the little office didn't hurt her eyes.  
  
Sandor looked her over quickly, and Sansa was allowed a full view of his scars. It was still a shock to her system, especially since she'd only seen his unhurt side on the way. But this exposure helped her understand what he looked like under the disfigurement. He would have been quite handsome, in a way. Sandor frowned at her appraisal. A strange emotion flickered in his eyes before he turned away.  
  
"She's cut," he told the nurse. "And she got whacked on the head. Miss Tarth's on her way."  
  
"Let's see then, Miss Stark," the nurse, Melisandre, gently turned Sansa's arm to get a better look at the cut on her elbow. "Oh, dear."  
  
Melisandre disinfected Sansa's cuts with an ointment that burned and made Sansa hiss in discomfort. Sandor waited beside her until Miss Tarth showed up, then made to leave.  
  
"Where are you going?" Brienne and Sansa asked, at practically the same time. Sandor scowled.  
  
"The principal's office." he replied.  
  
"I think you can consider yourself forgiven for cutting class," said Miss Tarth. "You were helping another teacher."  
  
Sandor sneered. "And you think Joffrey will just forget I was about to punch his lights out? I've already got a week's detention. I may as well go before Ms Lannister starts calling for my blood." He turned towards the hallway again.  
  
"Sandor," Sansa called. "Thank you."  
  
A faint smile crossed his face. "Any time, Sansa."


	7. Arya

She didn't see Gendry for the rest of the day. After the last bell rang, she stood on the steps outside the front entrance looking for him. _And Hot Pie, you're looking for Hot Pie too,_ she told herself. The crowd was immense, students flowing past and nearly knocking her down the concrete steps. _Remember what Syrio and Jaqen say, Arya. Fluid balance._  
  
She spotted Sandor climbing into a bus, tall frame bunched under the low roof. Gendry had offered him a lift, but Sandor had always remained tight-lipped over where he lived so Gendry hadn't pushed it. Over by the road she saw Margaery Tyrell climbing into her brother's waiting car. The man lurking in the pick-up on the opposite side of the street was Mr. Frey, collecting his many children from school. As Arya watched, the pick-up bed rapidly filled up with boys and girls of varying ages. Her mother had warned her to stay away from the Freys. Arya had agreed with her. Usually, any warning from Catelyn was considered something of an encouragement, but not when it came to the Freys.  
  
_There!_ She spotted Gendry and Hot Pie over at the student parking area, climbing into the Nova. As quick as she could, Arya threaded her way through the diminishing crowd towards them. _They'll wait for me._  
  
As she cleared the crowd beside the parking area, however, the Nova's engine rumbled to a start and it drove away. Gendry drove it away. For a second Arya stopped, staring slack-jawed at the back of the car as it shrank away. Her stomach clenched as if it had received a punch. Then Arya's mouth snapped closed. _He's not doing this to me._ For a car, the way to the exit was basic enough, but it did necessitate a few turns. Arya could take a more direct route across the intervening four lanes. Through the rear window of a parked car, she saw the Nova drive past the parked cars towards the exit, and she started running. She narrowly avoided getting clipped by a car going down the first lane, and sped up. She reached the final lane just as the Nova was turning. She waited at the edge of the parked cars until they had nearly drove by, and then stepped out in front of the car. Gendry slammed on the brakes, but Arya doubted much damage could be done since he wasn't going very fast in the first place. There was a pause, and then the driver door opened. Gendry appeared, mouth open to exclaim, but Arya got there first.  
  
"What the hell, Gendry?" she shouted. Gendry closed his mouth, then opened it again.  
  
"I didn't think you were coming." he said.  
  
"What, was I going to fly home?"  
  
He grimaced. "I thought maybe Ned Dayne'd give you a lift home."  
  
Arya felt a strange, fizzing feeling skitter down her spine. So she agreed to go to the dance with Dayne, and suddenly Gendry wasn't her friend anymore? Sansa would break, would go to Gendry and tell him she'd turn Dayne down if only Gendry would remain her friend, but Arya was made of harder stuff. Her face darkened with anger, and she stuck her middle finger out at him.  
  
"Go fuck yourself, Gendry!" she yelled. She lowered her arm, then turned on her heel and walked away before Gendry could recover. She trotted through the parked cars towards the school bus. _Please don't leave, please don't leave._ Just as she stepped onto the pavement the bus doors swooshed shut, and the bus itself pulled away.  
  
"Oh for God's sake!" Arya roared, bunching her hands into fists. _This isn't fair this isn't fa-_  
  
"Arya, are you OK?"  
  
She turned. Edric Dayne was standing half in, half out of his own car, one hand on top of the open door. Arya scowled.  
  
"I missed my bus." she said. Her mouth twisted into a petulant frown. "And Gendry drove off on me."  
  
Dayne raised his eyebrows. "Really? I thought you and he were friends."  
  
"I thought that too."  
  
"Would you like a lift?"  
  
Arya sighed. "Yes please." _This boy thing isn't as easy as I'd thought it would be._


	8. Catelyn

In her living room, Catelyn hung up the phone and sighed. Ned had called, announcing that Jon would be joining the Starks for dinner.  
  
Jon Snow, Ned’s nephew, had lived with the Starks as a young boy. Lyanna had been only a teenager when she became pregnant. Her boyfriend, Rhaegar, had just entered the army and she herself was about to go to university. Given her age, the Stark family decided that it would be better for mother and child if Jon lived with Ned and his family until Lyanna was in a better place to look after him. Never mind the fact that Catelyn had just given birth to Robb and was dealing with one squalling baby, without adding another to the mix. Ned was nothing if not a family man, and didn’t think twice about taking Jon in.  
  
Catelyn walked over to the fireplace. Their family pictures were hanging from the wall above it. Here were Jon and Robb, aged 12 and 13 respectively, standing back to back with their arms crossed. And Arya, clinging to a climbing wall six feet above the camera, wearing an expression of fierce joy. A family photo taken in Meereen, where a ghost-white Sansa and Catelyn were surrounded by tanned, grinning Starks. Ned’s mother and father on their wedding day.  
  
Off to the left was a picture of Jon with his mother and father, standing on the front step of their new home. Jon was 11 when Lyanna announced she was finally in a good place to raise her son. His father had finally returned from the army for good, and he and Lyanna had bought a home not far from Winterfell.  
  
Catelyn was ashamed of the resentment she felt. She had grown to love Jon as a son, and felt that Lyanna had decided to wait until it was convenient for her before stepping up to motherly duties.  
  
_I changed his nappies, I nursed him when he was sick, I tucked him into bed at night._  
  
Even more to her shame, not a small part of the resentment was towards Jon himself. Catelyn knew it was unreasonable, and that any young boy would have been overjoyed to be reunited with his parents. This didn’t stop a worm of disdain from growing in her heart, at how quickly - so it seemed to Catelyn - Jon had turned his back on the Starks.  
  
There was a knock at the front door. Catelyn glanced at the clock. The girls won't be home yet. Robb was in the back garden training the pups. She left the living room and went to the front door, taking a quick look through the peephole at the person on the other side. It was Theon. She sighed, and opened the door.  
  
“Hey Catelyn,” Theon said. “Is Robb in?”  
  
“Hello Theon,” she said. “How are you?”  
  
“Can't complain, can't complain. You?”  
  
“I'm not too bad. Robb's in the garden.”  
  
As Theon slouched past her, Catelyn shook her head. That was another mouth to feed for dinner.  
  
Theon was Robb's best friend, and had spent as much time as humanly possible at the Stark house when they were growing up. Catelyn suspected his homelife wasn't very happy. The boy was hard to love, but grew on you. Like mould. A chorus of yipping floated in from the garden.  
  
Catelyn took meat out of the freezer and put it in the microwave to defrost, when the door opened.  
  
“Hi Mum,” Sansa said, entering the kitchen. She slung her bag onto one chair, and slumped into another. Catelyn noticed a plaster on her knee, but didn't mention it.  
  
“Hello sweetheart,” she said. She rummaged in the fridge for some peppers. “How was school?”  
  
“Not bad.” Sansa worried her lip with her teeth for a minute, fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the tabletop. “Joffrey asked me to go to the graduation dance with him.”  
  
“Really?” Catelyn stood up, and looked at her daughter. “What did you say?”  
  
She knew Sansa was desperate to go to the dance, but if she were truly happy about the invitation Catelyn would have to pry her off the ceiling. Her reticence was screaming at Catelyn's maternal impulses.  
  
“I said yes,” Sansa said. “But…”  
  
“But what? What's wrong?”  
  
“Nothing! But there's this other boy…”  
  
Little by little, Catelyn teased it out of her. This Sandor boy had nearly come to blows with Joffrey over her, Sansa said, and Joffrey had revealed a very unkind side of his personality. Sansa wasn't sure if going with Joffrey would be the right thing to do.  
  
Catelyn went to her daughter and embraced her. Sansa wasn't crying yet, but she sensed tears weren't far away.  
  
“Maybe you shouldn't go to the dance with him, Sansa,” she said. “Perhaps you should wait until it's your graduation dance.” She let her go, and went back to chopping vegetables.  
  
“But what if no-one asks me to my own dance?” Sansa pouted. “This might be my only chance.”  
  
“Hardly,” Catelyn scoffed. “You are my beautiful summer-born child, and any boy with half an eye would bend over backwards to bring you to the dance.”  
  
Sansa was quiet for a moment.  
  
“Sandor only has half a face.” she said quietly. “I mean, he has such terrible burns on his face, he looks almost a monster.”  
  
“Don't be unkind, Sansa.”  
  
Sansa sniffed. “I wasn't trying to be,” she said. “He's not a monster, though. He's really quite kind, and gentle.”  
  
Catelyn pursed her lips. She didn't think it was wise, Sansa being friends with a boy who was clearly so violent.  
  
“What happened to your knee?”  
  
Sansa was silent for a few seconds, and alarm bells started ringing in Catelyn's head. It was definitely connected to the whole Joffrey business. Maybe even this Sandor was responsible.  
  
“I fell in P.E.,” Sansa stood up. “I'm going to do my homework.” she said, taking up her bag and leaving the kitchen. Catelyn frowned.  
  
A car coasted down the avenue and slid to a halt outside the Stark house. Catelyn frowned as her youngest daughter emerged from the passenger side, and saw a tall, fair-haired boy get out at the other side. _Where's Gendry?_ She thought. The two of them were talking, not as animatedly as Arya and Gendry had that morning, but obviously a friendly enough conversation. Arya led him around the side of the house, where she could no doubt hear her brother playing with the dogs. The boy seemed slightly more polished than Gendry. Maybe Arya was turning her attentions towards him.  
  
Catelyn sighed, and slipped little pieces of chopped onion into a sizzling pan. _Another mouth to feed,_ she thought.  



	9. Theon

Robb was kneeling on the patio in the back garden, trying to teach the puppies how to sit while Theon observed from a deck chair. Robb's task was a difficult enough one, Theon knew, if there was only one pup to train, never mind if there were five of them. The pups' mother lay in the sunshine, disregarding all her brood's yips for attention.  
  
'Sit. Sit.' Robb said patiently, patting each pup on the rump. Theon shook his head. It was a stupid idea. When one pup sat, the others would jump over it to lick Robb's face.  
  
'Why are you doing this as a group, Stark?' he said. He shrugged out of his jacket, and reclined in his chair. 'Separating them would be a better idea. Train them separately.'  
  
'No.' Robb said. 'Sit down, Grey Wind.' A smile flickered across his face as the pup in question licked his hand. The little grey pup was Robb's favourite.  
  
'At least hit them a little. They'll only do what you want when the alternative is pain.'  
  
Robb stared at Theon, his face like thunder.  
  
'Would you hit a baby for crying? Maybe that's how they do it in the Greyjoy house, but not in this one. You of all people should know that. They're a pack. They have to experience things as a pack. And it's not a shaking, fearful pack of dogs I need. A dog who's afraid of its master is a poor dog.'  
  
Theon shrugged. For the love he bore Robb he didn't push the subject. The man was like a brother to him, but they disagreed on many things.  
  
'I'll believe it when I see it, Stark,' he said. Robb smirked.  
  
'You will, Greyjoy.'  
  
The door connecting the front and back gardens creaked, and the pups flooded over towards the sound, yipping and barking their shrill barks as they went. Robb cocked an eyebrow at Theon, as if to say See what I mean?. Theon pulled a face, and turned his attention back to the door. It was Arya and one of her friends. As soon as she passed the doorframe Arya fell to the ground and started yipping with the dogs, rolling over to let them clamber over her.  
  
'That's another thing I won't do,' Robb told Theon. 'Their mother's taking a back seat role to parenting, so I have to be their alpha. Which means no playing like that. Arya's part of their pack, but I'm in control of it.'  
  
Theon nodded as if he understood. He waved his hand in a 'whatever' gesture.  
  
'Hey Arya,' he said to the pup-covered girl on the ground.  
  
'Theon,' she replied. _She must be in a good mood,_ Theon thought. Normally, all he got was a grunt.  
  
A boy, younger than Theon but older than Arya, followed her through the doorway. He walked slowly, seemingly hesitant to step into the yard with the dogs. Theon grinned at Robb. Robb rolled his eyes.  
  
'Hello there!' Theon called, rising from the chair smoothly. In three paces he had closed the distance between them, and grabbed the boy's hand in two of his own. 'Pleased to meet you, I'm Theon. You must be Arya's boyfriend.'  
  
'Theon!' Arya shouted from the ground. The pups went into a chorus of yelps at her raised voice.  
  
The boy turned a spluttering shade of pink, which was what Theon had hoped for.  
  
'Theon,' Robb said, smiling. 'Don't scare the boy. Hi, I'm Robb.' Robb shunted Theon aside not-too-gently, and took the boy's hand.  
  
'Edric Dayne,' the boy said. 'Ned.'  
  
'Ned, lovely to meet you. Are you staying for dinner?'  
  
'Oh, I'd better not, I should –'  
  
'You should stay,' Arya jumped up. 'Mum always cooks too much.'  
  
Theon punched her arm lightly, and winked grotesquely. Arya looked at him with contempt.  
  
“You shouldn't stay, Greyjoy.' she added.  
  
Theon lifted a hand and placed it over his heart.  
  
'My days! Young Miss Stark expresses her distaste for me! However will I – oh I don't care.' He gave Arya a look of his own. She snorted, and turned back to Ned.  
  
'Yeah, you should stay. It'll take you ages to get to Starfall, your dinner there will go cold by the time you get back.'  
  
'Starfall!' Theon exclaimed. 'I'm not sure if our plebeian food will be quite good enough for a Starfall resident.'  
  
'Where did you learn such a big word?”' Arya spat.  
  
Theon just smiled. Robb made a little -ahem!- noise in the back of his throat, and stepped between them.  
  
'Stay for dinner, Ned,' he said to the boy. 'My pain sister is right; Mam always makes too much. Come on, Theon, let's go to the store.' With that, he entered the house.  
  
Theon stayed for a few seconds and leered at Arya before following. Robb had gone upstairs to get his car keys, so Theon loitered in the kitchen watching Catelyn cook. He never remembered his own mother cooking.  
  
'Smells nice, Catelyn,' he said. 'Chilli?'  
  
'Yes. Your favourite, wasn't it?'  
  
Theon nodded. 'Yeah.'  
  
'Theon! Let's go!' Robb didn't re-enter the kitchen. Theon heard the front door open, and went to the hall. Before he left the kitchen, he turned back.  
  
'Do you want anything from the store, Catelyn?' he asked.  
  
'Oh no, thank you Theon. And don't be long. This should be ready in about twenty minutes.' Catleyn smiled at him before turning back to the food.  
  



	10. Jon

It was nearly time to leave. Jon stood near the window, buttoning his shirt while Ygritte rolled around on the bed.  
  
"Just five more minutes," she said. "Surely nothing bad will happen if you're five minutes late."  
  
Jon laughed.  
  
"You don't know Catelyn," he said. "I've been in her frosty books lately, and I'm trying to stay out of them."  
  
Ygritte blew a raspberry, and bundled herself up in bedsheets.  
  
"I've never understood how you wrap yourself in all these duvets," she said. "Must come of being a soft Southerner."  
  
Jon pivoted towards the mirror, attempting to make some order from the chaos of his curly hair. He gazed at Ygritte, currently in a blanket burrito on the bed.  
  
"First of all, that's a bedsheet. Secondly, you are making yourself _far_ too comfortable to even think about mocking me for them. And besides, it does get cold down here. What do you suggest I have over me at night?"  
  
"Me." she said, eyes twinkling.  
  
Jon smiled, and stepped toward the bed. Too near. Ygritte bounced up and grabbed him by the waist, flipping him back onto the bed.  
  
"No!" he shouted. "Wild woman!"  
  
"You bet your fur I'm a wild woman, Jon Snow," she said, holding him down with a grip that was almost painful. " _Your_ wild woman. And I am _letting_ you leave."  
  
With that, she released her iron grip, so that Jon was set free. He propped himself up on his elbow to look at Ygritte, who had leaned back against the pillows, arms folded behind her head. He took her hand - with some resistance from her - and kissed it.  
  
"Thank you, my lady," he said. "I will return with all haste."  
  
"You'd better," Ygritte said. "Your parents left you in charge of the house for two whole weeks, and you're already leaving me here alone."  
  
Jon smiled, and stood up. He pulled his shirt front down and puffed out his chest.  
  
"How do I look?" he asked.  
  
"Terrible," she declared. "Horrible. Should not be seen in public."  
  
Jon headed for the door, grabbing his car keys from the bedside table as he went.  
  
"I know you love me, really." he said.  
  
Ygritte's voice drifted down the hall and followed him out of the house.  
  
"You know nothing, Jon Snow!"


	11. Ned

“Dad, can we go now?”  
  
Ned chuckled, and lifted his gaze from his computer screen. Bran, his second youngest son, was spinning in the chair opposite, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
“Soon, son. I just have to send two emails.”  
  
“It was two emails half an hour ago.”  
  
“Why don’t you go see if Myrcella is still here?”  
  
Bran huffed and rolled his head around on his neck, long brown hair flopping over his face.  
  
“Fiiiiiine,” he said, and got out of the chair. “But I’m going to be back soon and I would like to go home then.”  
  
“I know,” said Ned. “I promise, just two more emails.”  
  
He watched Bran flounce out of the room, all heavy feet and pointy elbows, and smiled at his son’s back before returning to his drafts.  
  
Myrcella Baratheon was taking part in the ‘work with parents’ day too, being in Bran’s class, and was with her father Robert on the fourth floor. He and Ned had started Iron Bones, a prosthetic production company, over twenty years ago. Fresh out of university aged 22, the two had seen the potential in durable, cost-effective prostheses and started working out of Ned’s garage 24/7 to deliver. It hadn’t been easy, particularly for Ned and his growing family, but the two men had stuck at it.  
  
Over the past twenty years the company had gone from strength to strength, and were now the main provider of prostheses to Westeros’s public health services. The two men had remained firm friends, and Robert was godfather to Robb and Bran. Despite the fact that Robert had married Cersei Lannister, a woman that none of the Starks could claim to like, the connection remained strong. And Robert, being big-hearted (big-everything, Ned smiled to himself), doted on his children. This gave Bran a convenient playmate on ‘work with parents’ day, which meant Ned could actually get some work done.  
  
He glanced at the time. 5pm. Cat had said dinner would be ready at 6.30pm, which meant he had enough time to wrap things up on his workday and get home early for dinner.  
  
_Jon's coming over tonight._  
  
Ned loved his nephew, and took every available opportunity to see him. Unfortunately, these opportunities were becoming fewer and fewer the older Jon got. Lyanna was always spiriting her son away on breaks and holidays, trying to reforge the familial connection she felt she had lost. Ned didn’t blame Jon for soaking up the attention, as he knew Catelyn did. It was only natural that the boy enjoyed the time with his mother.  
  
Lyanna would not be coming tonight; she and Rhaegar were out of town on a couples’ weekend, and Jon was home alone. Despite the fact that Jon was nearly 21, Ned took it as read that he couldn’t look after himself, and had jumped at the chance to invite him for a nutritious home-cooked meal.  
  
_I’m sure Robert wouldn’t mind if I clocked off a little early._ he thought. _And these emails can wait until tomorrow._  
  
He smiled, and closed his browser windows. _Now to find Bran._  
  
“Ned!” Robert’s voice drifted down the hall. “Can I have a word?”  
  
“Aye,” said Ned. “Is everything OK?”  
  
Robert’s stomach entered the room a fraction of a second before he did, and Ned smiled up at his friend. Robert looked worried, not his usual blustery cheerful self.  
  
“Well, no, as it happens. Let’s go somewhere else.”  
  



	12. Bran

Bran meandered down the corridor, taking the time to look through the glass walls of the offices on his way. Within, his dad’s colleagues sweated and shouted and steamed at the air. Or so it seemed to Bran.  
  
Bran reached the lobby, and called the elevator to go down to the fourth floor. He took a long look around the lobby, listening to the elevator gears grind in the shaft. The elevators were at a T-junction of hallway, the right hand of which Bran had walked down to get here. Pictures of athletes adorned the lobby walls, crossing finish lines and standing on podiums in jubilation. The common denominator, of course, was that each one was standing on, or waving, a prosthetic limb.  
  
Another picture to the left of the elevators depicted a game of wheelchair basketball. The athlete’s faces were shining with sweat, and Bran could feel the exhilaration of the game even through the picture.  
  
 _Wheelchairs must get your arms in shape fast._ Bran thought.  
  
The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. No one was inside, and Bran stepped quickly in. He pressed the button for the fourth floor.  
  
“Hold the door!” A tall, heavyset man jogged down the opposite hallway, hand raised to signal Bran. Bran stuck his foot against the elevator door.  
  
“Thanks,” the man said. “Ned’s kid, right?”  
  
Bran nodded. The man seemed even larger in the confines of the elevator, and Bran’s eyes flickered to the weight allowance sign. The doors slid shut, and the elevator began to descend.  
  
“Name's Hodor. Bill Hodor.”  
  
“Bran.”  
  
“Well Bran, did you have a fun time today?”  
  
“It was OK I guess. I'm looking forward to going home though.”  
  
Hodor laughed, and raised his arm to wipe away a sheen of sweat from his forehead.  
  
“Yeah, you and me both, kid.”  
  
The elevator pinged at the fourth floor, and the doors slid open. Bran nodded to Hodor.  
  
“Good to meet you.” he said, and walked out of the elevator. He raised a hand at Hodor's “You too!”, without looking back, and headed down the left hand corridor.  


  


Myrcella was in Robert's office alone. She slouched in his chair, chin in hand as she clicked idly at the computer. Bran could see her through the shuttered glass wall of the office, and by her lack of surprise when he swung around the door frame into the room, Myrcella had seen him too.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asked.  
  
“Nothing. Dad’s gone to a meeting and left me here. I'm just clicking.”  
  
Bran nodded, and looked over the room. There was nothing interesting in here.  
  
“Want to explore?”  
  
Myrcella grinned. “Sure!”  
  
The two children played rock-paper-scissors for the adventure. Myrcella had proposed they pretend to be elves on a quest, while Bran had gone for the ever-popular treasure hunter option.  
  
Bran played stone, Myrcella scissors, and so it was that the corridors of Iron Bones became the booby-trapped halls of the Essosi pyramids.  
  
“What sort of gold is even in Essosi pyramids?” Myrcella pouted at Bran’s back as they peered into an empty meeting room.  
  
“Dragon’s gold.” Bran said, entering the room and creeping slowly to the cabinet at the far end. “And when we find it we can live like kings.”  
  
“What’s the plan?”  
  
“Let’s check this sarcophagus.” Bran said, voice low. “There might be something that tells us where the gold is.”  
  
The two children took position either side of the cabinet, which was about as tall as they were, peeping around for signs of pirates or undead mummies. They each reached over and laid a hand on each handle.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“Ready.”  
  
With a dramatic sweep the two pulled open the cabinet doors and swung round to look inside.  
  
No gold. Just a small basket on the cabinet floor, containing some pens and some Iron Bones-branded notebooks.  
  
“The sarcophagus is empty.” Myrcella said, eyes wide with shock. “What happened to the mummy?”  
  
“Let’s check the scrolls,” said Bran, picking up the notebook from the floor. “There might be a clue.”  
  
“Give me that!” she said, plucking it from his hand. “I’m the Essologist around here.”  
  
She bent over the notebook for a few seconds, fingers stroking her chin.  
  
“Yes…. yes I see now.”  
  
Bran heard footsteps coming down the hall towards the meeting room. And their dads’ voices, getting louder and louder with every step.  
  
“The gold is with the-”  
  
“Pirates! Myrcella, into the sarcophagus!”  
  
He jumped into the cabinet and pulled her in behind him, managing to close the doors seconds before Ned and Robert walked in.  
  
The cabinet was pitch black inside, and Bran was content to imagine that he was evading pirates until he heard Robert shout.  
  
“Don’t be so fucking foolish Ned!”  
  
Myrcella jumped, and the pens rattled under her feet. Bran reached out and grabbed her arm to hold her still, laying a finger over her lips with his free hand.  
  
“What’s foolish about it?” his father was saying. “I feel like the company is going from strength to strength, and if we sell now we’re going to miss out.”  
  
“Miss out on what? All the poor sods who are going to buy even more of our metal legs? Ned I can’t do it for much longer. This was just a way to build something stable for our families, and we have that now. It’s time to sell.”  
  
Sell? Bran mouthed to himself.  
  
“I’m sorry Robert, I can’t do it. Maybe you and I can come to an arrangement? I could buy your share?” Ned’s voice, calm and warm, was soothing to Bran, always had been, but Robert wasn’t buying it.  
  
“It won’t be enough.” His voice was full of emotion, but Bran didn’t know which one.  
  
There was silence. They were still in the room, Bran knew, but neither was speaking. He reached down and took Myrcella’s hand. Bran thought there was more to this conversation than selling the company. The two of them waited in the dark together, barely breathing.  
  
“It’s Cersei.” said Robert.  
  
Myrcella gasped, a sharp little hiss that made Bran’s hand clench automatically.  
  
“What about Cersei?” said Ned.  
  
“She’s-” his breath hitched, and his voice moved towards the window. There, he took deep breaths, and Bran knew that Robert had started to cry.  
  
This is probably not something we should be hearing, he thought. This is real grown-up stuff.  
  
He grabbed Myrcella around the shoulders and burst out of the cabinet, screaming “SURPRISE!” at the top of his voice. Ned yelled aloud in shock, and Robert wheeled towards the cabinet. There were tears on his face, but the deep shade of red his face was going could be easily attributed to his anger.  
  
“What were the two of you doing in there?” He roared.  
  
Bran grimaced. He hadn’t quite thought it through beyond their heroic leap from the cabinet, and he sensed a sound thrashing was in order for eavesdropping.  
  
Face now dry but still scarlet, Robert continued.  
  
“Do you know how dangerous that is? What if a cleaner had come and locked the two of you in? What if you’d suffocated?”  
  
“Go easy on them Robert,” said Ned. “It’s my fault for telling Bran to come find Myrcella. I should have known they’d get into mischief.”  
  
Ned was smiling faintly, but Bran could see the steel in his eyes and knew he was in for it on the journey home. Ned held out his arm, and Bran walked towards him. “Come on son, let’s be off. Robert, I’ll call you later.”  
  
Robert had his hand over his face. “Alright Ned,” he said, sighing. “Come on little madam, let’s head home too. You can tell your mum all about how you nearly gave your dad a heart attack.”  
  
Ned steered Bran out of the meeting room and down the corridor towards the elevator. As Ned pressed the call button, Myrcella’s voice drifted towards them.  
  
“Dad, is Mum OK?”  
  
“Of course she is,” Robert laughed, loud and brittle. “Everything’s fine.”  
  
Bran looked up at his dad, who gave him a tight smile before chivvying him into the elevator.  



End file.
